


Ceiling Tile Reflection

by shazzado



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Growing Up, Original work - Freeform, Poetry, Reminiscing, grass is greener etc, original piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:44:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shazzado/pseuds/shazzado
Summary: Reflecting fondly upon what was once a less-than-desirable situation and feeling like an outsider looking into one's own life.





	Ceiling Tile Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> I found a poem I wrote in 2014 and thought it was still nice enough to share online. Comments and constructive criticism welcome!

I hear the rain pattering on the window and it  
Brings me back to a time when I could feel it  
Dripping on my face from a crack in the ceiling and I’d  
Just laugh and wipe it away and crawl back in bed.  
Do you remember those days?

We could feel the wind howling through us  
And we lived in ruin; it was bohemian and glorious  
And it didn’t matter if we couldn’t afford food, so long as we  
Could afford cigarettes and cheap liquor and things that would  
Make our pupils go wide with wonder as we  
Felt the life-pulse of the earth go spinning, spinning into oblivion  
Do you remember our time as fondly as I?

As I see the droplets race down the panes of glass I cannot help but  
Notice the lack of drumming tin of rain-on-roof  
Instead I hear a bed creak and groan overhead  
And laughter in the halls. It sounds nothing like yours. Nothing like  
Twinkling bells or the hum of rain and I find it so. very. hateful. 

I cannot yet say if money can buy happiness. I feel I traded  
Happiness for a desk and a wardrobe and a roof that’s not really a roof  
And a floor that doesn’t cut the rubber off my shoes.  
Tell me I did this wrong. Tell me, darling, that our steps  
Have not rotted away, tell me the ceiling is still leaking  
Tell me we can still be joyous with poison in our lungs, in our minds, in our hearts.  
Tell me.


End file.
